


she's kinda jet set, try undo her panties

by Merideath



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Banter, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Panties, Pietro Lives, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Steve’s family is a bunch of assholes, Unresolved Sexual Tension, but he deserves it most of the time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 21:38:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19484536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merideath/pseuds/Merideath
Summary: The fabric when unfolded is a pair panties, themed like his stealth suit, blue with a small silver star, stylised wings, edged in sparkly silver elastic.





	she's kinda jet set, try undo her panties

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Legs by ZZ Top. Because this is a crack dumb bit of fluff and it needed a name to go with it. There won’t be any more of this, but I do have a bunch of wips I should be working on. Depression has been a bitch and a half the last month or two so I’m doing what little bit of creative stuff that I can. 
> 
> Thank you, fanfic-bookworm, for the beta job. Gold star for you as I know my writing is a disaster of too many and too few commas and autocarrot blunders. 
> 
> More thanks to all my readers who leave kudos and comments. It means the world to me that you are still here reading the little stories that I manage to decant from my scattered thoughts. ❤️

He’s in the team locker room, water dripping down from his hair to join the beads on his shoulders and chest. Mind blissfully quiet after running and sparring with Bucky and spending far too long in the shower. Steve unties the wet towel around his waist. The towel drops to the tiled floor with a heavy wet sound. He pulls open his locker. It’s empty, or nearly so, his sweats and a clean uniform gone, only a tiny scrap of blue fabric on the shelf.

Something brushes past his calf and Steve turns in time to see a streak of blue and white shoot through the open door.

“What the fuck,” he roars. Pietro is long gone.

“Shit,” Steve hisses out. His jaw clenched and he opens the next locker where Barnes is engraved on the nameplate. It’s empty. Every locker is empty, every towel from the cabinet, even the smallest face cloth, gone.

Everything but the scrap of blue in his locker. The fabric when unfolded is a pair panties, themed like his stealth suit, blue with a small silver star, stylised wings, edged in sparkly silver elastic.

Steve glares at the bit of cotton in his hands. Considers streaking through the facility vs putting on a pair of women’s panties. He’s not ashamed of being nude, but there are women in the facility that probably don’t want to see his meat and two veg.

Snarling under his breath Steve pulls the panties on. They don’t fit that badly. There is material enough to cover most of his ass and not the string things that his reputation shouldn’t know about. The front, well it’s very snug, bordering on obscene.

The floor is cold and he would like to have some socks on but it could be worse. He’s fast, not as fast as Maximoff now that the little shit is recovered from Sokovia, but fast enough to make it down the halls and on the home stretch to his door without being seen. He takes the last corner with a wildly pinwheeling arm and runs straight into a soft body.

“Oof,” Darcy says.

“Shit...sorry,” he says. Grasping her arms to keep her on her feet. To keep them both swaying on their feet. “I’m just gonna.” He tries to drop his hands and escape but Darcy grips his forearms tight, pink tipped nail scraping his skin.

He’s going to murder someone.

“Commander Rogers,” Darcy gasps. Her hands flex, little nails digging deep. Her eyes drag down his naked chest, a flush of heat rising in her face and the wedge of pale skin above her cleavage. Her eyes drack down, and down, and if he tightens the muscles in his abdomen then that’s between him and Darcy and whatever damn demigod’s present in the facility. Her perfect red lips form a perfect ‘o’ that he really shouldn’t think too hard about.

“Yes, Miss Lewis,” Steve replies. If his voice cracks a little, well that’s another thing just between them.

“Can I ask?” Darcy says. Her eyes dart back up to meet his, sparking with mischief and dark enough that he knows she likes what she sees.

“If you must,” he sighs. It takes an effort if will to step back releasing Darcy’s arms so they aren’t standing there doing some sort of semi-pornographic box step in the hall. Somehow it doesn’t feel far enough. It doesn’t feel close enough either.

“Oh I must. I really, really must,” she says. She clasps her hands together and bounces up on her toes.

Steve can’t quite keep his eyes from straying to the altogether enticing bounce of her breasts. He swallows hard, dragging his eyes back up to Darcy’s face, and the pleased smile curling at the corners of her mouth.“Fine. Ask your question, Miss Lewis.”

“Barton or Barnes?”

“Maximoff. I don’t know who else, but when I do I’ll let you know where to send the condolence cards,” Steve says. He’s rather proud of the evenness of his voice, despite the red creeping up into his cheeks and burning the tips of his ears. He moves to place his hands on his bare hips, flailing about awkwardly before crossing his arms over his chest.

Darcy snorts out a laugh. “Enemies across the board, huh, Commander?”

“Something like that.”

“Okay, well, after you beat them to a pulp, please tell them if they rifle through my underwear drawer again I will kill them.”

“Yours?” Steve chokes out.

“Mine,” Darcy nods, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear. A flush of red covers her pale cheeks. She rolls her bottom lip between her teeth, eyes roaming up and down Steve’s nearly naked body before dropping down to a spot on the floor. “Oh, and Steve?”

“Yeah?”

Darcy’s eyes rise up to meet his pupils blown wide. “You, uh, you can keep ‘em.”

“Keep ‘em,” Steve echos back, his voice dropping an octave to match the crackle of heat that threads down his spine and sets up shop in his underwear. Her underwear. Fuck.

Darcy’s shoulders shiver. The pink tip of her tongue swiping out over the swell of her red painted lips. “Mhmmm,” she hums, turning on her heel. “I, uh, I gotta jet,” She jerks a thumb over her shoulder and turns on her heel.

Steve watches the swing of Darcy’s hips in her tight skirt. Imagines for just a moment that her leggings and heavy boots were replaced with silk stockings and peep toe heels.

“Fuck,” he curses fumbling with the doorknob and palm reader.


End file.
